


Red

by orphan_account



Category: The OA (TV)
Genre: Dissociation, French has issues, I didnt mean for this to have synesthesia but it's the only way I can describe some things, I wrote this at 1 AM but I guess it's ok, Steve is a prick, Synesthesia, Violence, god how do I tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-23
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-26 12:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9897836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: So much stress in his life, it's a wonder that it hasn't happened before. A person can only take so much antagonizing before he slips. Breathe in. Breathe out.An imagining of what may happen if French snapped.





	

Stupid fucking Steve.  
It was always him, running off his mouth about something or the other just to get a rise out of him. Before their meeting with the OA last night, Steve had been making snide remarks about his mother. Again. It wasn't his fault that his mother was sick. It wasn't his fault that his mother was a smoker and a drinker. Hell, he was the one trying to keep the stress off of her. Taking care of his little brothers. Working his ass off to get a scholarship.  
He was doing his best.  
His alarm went off, rousing him from his thoughts. Mindlessly reaching over and tapping the off button, French sighed, blinking at few times at his ceiling. He hadn't been able to sleep again. This made the second night in a row. Breath in. Breath out.  
Go prepare.  
He completed his normal daily routine, helping his siblings get ready for school, only eating a slice of bread, choosing to complete his breakfast with a chugged cup of coffee. Pouring the rest in a thermos, he ushered the little ones to the elementary bus before grabbing his bag and beginning his walk to the bus stop a few blocks away from his house. He saw Buck being driven to school by his mother sometimes, the small boy always smiling at him. Buck sometimes rode home on the bus with him, which provided a nice change from the noisy yet meaningless monotony the vehicle usually provided. Smiling a little, French put in his headphones, turning on his playlist. Maybe today would be better than yesterday.  
That would not be the case, much to his displeasure.  
The day was a living hell. By the end of it, he was positively seething. On top of not being able to concentrate in his classes, his lacrosse coach had called him in to discuss college chances, adding to the stress already piled on his shoulders. The day passed in a haze of sickening purple, one bad thing melding into the other. Upon returning home, he'd encountered his mother in a drunken haze, yelling at his youngest brother for breaking a mug on the floor and driving the young boy to tears. The only reason he was able to resist locking himself in his room and slamming his head against a wall was the promise of the OA revealing more of her story that night.  
Walking to the house, French was testy, barely speaking. That didn't stop the others from conversing among themselves, though Buck had squeezed his arm reassuringly before engaging in conversation with Jesse. It was seeming as it things would be ok until Steve jumped into the conversation. French did his best to ignore the prick who was apparently having a ball with his carefully constructed words, poking at French's mental barriers with veiled taunts. He didn't know what had gotten into Steve, and quite frankly, he didn't care. Hate was building up inside him with every comment passed by the other, his ears not quite seeming to work but the meaning of the words getting through to his brain anyhow. It wasn't until Steve actually began directing his voice at him that he noticed exactly how close to snapping he was.  
"...Alfonso! Can you even hear me? Jesus, didn't think the shit you're on was that strong." A laugh. "Fuck, man, you'll never get the scholarship at this rate. Saw you getting chewed out by the physics teacher earlier, too. What was that about?" Breathe in. Breathe out. "Coach didn't seem too happy during lunch, either, huh? I bet--"  
"Steve, shut up," he heard beside him, the normally soft voice sharp. Another laugh, pleasant red disguising the malice.  
"Aw, c'mon, Buck. He doesn't even look like he can hear me! Hell, I bet I could..." The words were melding together again, grating in a long stripe against his ears, his mind. Words sticking out through the mental sandpaper, meaningless without the venom they were laced with. They had stopped walking, Steve still talking at him, Buck and Jesse nervously watching. A dot of purple was visible behind Steve's right ear, slowly growing closer. French couldn't hear what Steve was saying anymore. A small voice was telling him to calm down, calm down, you can't do anything, there will be consequences, you really should just ignore it and keep walking, but the rage was building, roiling, and even Steve seemed to notice, his words faltering--  
And suddenly, he didn't give a damn about that little voice that had kept him on track all this time. He couldn't listen to this prick one more minute. Stepping forward, he swung his fist up from his side where it was balled and brought it forward into Steve's throat, eliciting a strangled yelp from the other. As he stumbled back, searching for stabilisation, French lunged forward with him, his other hand going up and gripping his already injured throat. Driving his clenched hand into Steven's abdomen, he heard yells, but chose to disregard them. A force smacked into his face, snapping his head to the side: Steven, trying to fight back. He didn't feel the pain, though he did faintly taste copper. In a swift move, French retaliated, pushing Steven to the ground as hard as he could. Before he could step forward again, he was tugged backwards, his arms held by his sides by his elbows, and the yelling was back, and he was struggling to free his arms, warmth running down from the corner of his mouth, and it was loud, so loud, so unbearably loud, as if all the volume had pummelled his ears in one deft strokehe bowed his head and brought his hands to his ears, crying out, and the restraints around his arms dropped, and he fell to his knees  
(Oh my goodness what's happening)  
His hands slid to the back of his neck, the fingernails digging in and beginning to pull pull apart as the rage disappated into confusion and pain  
(Are they ok)  
And he crumpled in on himself like he was performing some twisted prayer as white spiked from his fingernails as warmth dripped from them as  
(Jesus what is he doing stop him)  
it all overwhelmed him  
(Grab his hands do something)  
(French are you there)  
(French)  
(Please)

**Author's Note:**

> I do have an explaination for this, so hear me out. Do you remember when French punched Steve in episode 2, I believe? He seems to to have quite a lot of pent up anger. Alongside this, he also does drugs. Add all this to the stress he must feel from school, you have, to put it bluntly, a walking time bomb. The dissociation was kind of based off of my own experiences with it, mainly the disconnection from emotions and normal mentality and the inability to feel pain. The synesthesia was included because I'm shit at describing things without the use of it, so I hope that justifies my description of 'red sandpaper,' heheh. It's the only way I can think to describe certain things.
> 
> I may post a different ending later, an ending where he falls on the other side of the edge, and things go in quite a different direction. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated, especially if I can clarify anything for you. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
